


A Magic Unlike Any We Teach at Hogwarts

by AnachronisticVerbage



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Biracial Harry Potter, Child Abuse, Gen, Growth, Magical Dudley Dursley, Neglect, Squib Harry Potter, no bashing anywhere, too much angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-03-28 22:39:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13913643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnachronisticVerbage/pseuds/AnachronisticVerbage
Summary: Dudley has magic. Harry... doesn’t.





	1. The Letter

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t own Harry Potter, credit and thanks for these characters/events/everything here basically must go to J K Rowling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello folks! Thanks for reading! Expect a slow start but gradually improved writing ability. (I’m sorry I am a STEM I don’t know how to write).  
> In summary: Hogwarts owls will wait up to two hours to receive a response. This is much better than keeping them in your pocket.

  
On the 15th of July 1991, a letter was left on the doorstep of number four Privet Drive. At his family’s behest, Harry Potter brought it into the kitchen. He held the odd, thick envelope in his hands, watched the swirling green ink seem to catch the light and swallow it. 

“Oh,” he said, voice uncharacteristically soft. He set the envelope on the table. Catching sight of it, Petunia shrieked, Vernon went red, and Dudley Dursley clutched it to his chest.

 

“It’s mine!” he screeched, “it has my bedroom on it!”

 

————

 

Petunia sent Harry from the kitchen, and ushered Dudley after him, plucking the letter from his tight grasp.

 

Five seconds later, she was panting, eyes flitting wildly about the kitchen. When the door was closed and locked, she let a shocked Vernon lead her back to the kitchen table.  
As the boys argued over who would listen at the keyhole, Vernon snapped the curtains closed and embraced his shaking wife. The letter fell from her limp fingers.

 

“Is it... from them?” Vernon’s voice was oddly hesitant.

 

“On paper like that, who else could it be?”

 

Wizards were always too pretentious by half. Did they always have to write on that same thick parchment? Come to think of it, the boy’s letter had been that way too. Too thick, too old, too _magic_ to ever belong in a place like Little Whinging. Difficult to burn, too, if she was remembering her misadventures with a pumpkin scented candle correctly. Maybe that was a protection they put in place.

 

Vernon stared at the letter. No, with paper like that, wizards really were the only option. He grasped for something, anything, that could explain this.

 

“The boy is a nasty piece of work, could he have _...infected_ him somehow?”

 

“I’m not sure it works that way, Vernon,” Petunia said, suddenly despondent. There was a time when that was all she had ever wished for.

 

The chair creaked as Vernon settled beside her. “What are we going to do then? This is our Dudley, not the frea—boy.”

 

They sat in silence, letting the horror run over them. In the hall, there was a loud thump, breaking the quiet. Petunia forced her spine to straighten. 

“It can’t be helped. We’ll need—someone to explain, Lord only knows I won’t be able to. Why they sent a letter, when for _her_ they sent a professor I couldn’t tell you. They will, though, they will explain.  Hand me the letter. Uppity as they are they sure use some archaic methods, don’t they,” her voice trailed into mutters as she skimmed the letter, until, “Vernon! Check and see if there’s an owl outside, and pass me my stationary. Let’s see what this _deputy headmistress_ has to say.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello all and welcome to my Harry Potter fanfiction extravaganza. If anyone who knows how to British could leave explanations, I would really apreciate it as I’ve a deep and extensive knowledge of the health care system and very little else.


	2. In Which There are no Birthday Cakes, Storms, or Pig tails

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minnie McGee preforms a an inanimate to animate transfiguration, meets two ghosts and a hero in the body of a ten year old boy, and carefully says nothing of recent history. All in all, it’s a successful visit.

* * *

  
Dudley Dursley trusted his mother to make anything better, but Petunia was raving about magic, and everyone knew magic didn’t exist. Of course, there were those _odd_ happenings, like the time his teacher called him stupid and her hair turned blue, or when Bananaman got taken off the air and his telly exploded, or how games of Harry Hunting often ended with Harry tripping on air, straight into Dudley’s fists, but those things were just lucky.

 

Mummy said the universe loved him, so it was trying to make him happy.

 

Dudley turned the corner onto Wisteria walk. It was getting on toward noon, and his show would be airing soon. He should be getting home. He hoped his mum and da would drop the crazy talk. He didn’t want to have mad parents.

 

  
————

 

  
Five blocks behind him, there was a crack of displaced air. Minerva McGonagall stepped into the achingly familiar muggle street, and almost stepped back out. She squared her shoulders instead. This was not the time for weakness.

Minerva put on the same expression she wore to go to war and walked briskly toward number four, Privet drive.

 

When she rang the bell, a dark haired, green eyed ghost opened the door. Minerva stared at James, at Lily, at the wizarding world’s infant messiah. He would be...ten now. He looked very small for a boy who’d saved the world.

“Ma’am?” Potter, _Harry Potter_ , was shifting uncomfortably beneath her gaze, staring at her long bottle green dress, the letter in her hand.

“Mr...” _Potter_ she almost said, but didn’t, because she was holding Dudley Dursley’s letter. She tore her eyes from his. “May I speak to Mr. Dursley?”

 

  
————

 

  
There was a goat in the sitting room. There was a goat in place of his Uncle Vernon’s favorite armchair. It was the same awful, practical, ordinary, beige as the linen had been, but looked considerably more lively. If Harry didn’t think he would catch hell for it later, he might have laughed.

Instead, he backed carefully away from the loveseat. The goat wandered toward one of the walls. Aunt Petunia was looking very, very white.

The woman, Minerva McGonagall, Professor to Dudley and Ms. to him, waved her stick—no—her _wand_ again, producing a patterned tea set. She floated freshly poured cups of—Harry sniffed—jasmine tea to each of them. Aunt Petunia gave a strained smile, and Dudley looked for cream. Uncle Vernon had his back to Harry, which was almost disappointing. Nobody drank.

 

“So you see, Mr. Dursley,” said Ms. McGonagall, “magic is quite real.”

 

Dudley sat heavily down on the sofa.

The goat chewed the edge of a photo frame. It rocked, but despite Harry’s absentminded hope, did not fall.

Harry leaned back and wished he had a camera. He was as stunned as they were, but he liked to think he carried it better. There was never much entertainment at Privet drive, not for him, so Harry had made something of a study of antagonizing his relatives, and this was risk free. The image of his their faces could sustain him for a long time, he thought.

 

Surprisingly, Uncle Vernon was the first to find his voice. “Could you elaborate? We’ve said—well, we knew, about—” for some reason he shot a glance at Harry. “Why should he go to your school?”

“Well,” began Mrs. McGonagall, “Hogwarts is—”

“Are you saying I’m a wizard?” Harry did snort this time. Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Dudley Dursley, always quick on the uptake.

“Yes Mr. Dursley,” Ms. McGonagall said, not even glancing at Harry. She hadn’t, this whole time. Harry was used to being invisible, preferred it most days, really, but this woman was from a whole different world and she’d almost looked like she knew him, when he answered the door. It hurt.

“You see, some people are born with special abilities. Just like some people are very clever or good at sport, some people can do magic. You are very special, Mr. Dursley. Can you think back to any time when you wanted something very badly, or were scared, or hurt, and something improbable happened to help you?”

“I—yes,” said Dudley, slowly. Harry knew the times he was thinking of.

 

— _A yank, as if from an invisible hand, and suddenly he couldn’t move any more, and Dudley’s gang was running toward him—Piers grinning sharply as Harry was suddenly soaked—a furious Vernon running at him—ice cream sandwiches melted under Dudley’s bed—the cupboard shaking, far more than it should from any nine year old’s weight—Aunt Petunia’s flowers perfectly rendered on colorful card stock_ —

 

Or maybe not. Dudley’s “special talents” may manifest in other ways. He didn’t know. Dudley had always been very lucky, he supposed, and that might be magic too.

 

“See? The letter system does not lie. Now, Hogwarts is a public school in Scotland. Students board from September to July, with a winter and spring break. It is one of the premiere schools in magical Europe, and certainly the best in the United Kingdom, though you’ll find borders are treated differently in the magical world. It offers courses in Transfigurations, Defence against the Dark Arts, Potions, Charms, Herbology, and has one of the world’s leading Astronomy programs. If you like, I can take you to get some introductory materials on each of the subjects when you get your school supplies.” She turned to Aunt Petunia. “Should, of course, you wish to attend, and if your parents agree.”

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon exchanged cautious looks. “What about...” Petunia trailed off, then seemed to steel herself. “Last I heard, the magical world was a dangerous place. Will my Dudley be safe there?”

Harry didn’t know when she would have heard about the magical world.

“Yes, it is quite safe. Those ways of thinking have cooled, considerably, thanks to—“ McGonagall glanced at Harry, and cleared her throat. “Well, I can assure you that the war is over now.”

 

Something bumped against his leg. Harry looked down. The armchair-turned-goat was nosing at his pockets.  
He swallowed down something like awe, and gave it a pinch of cracker crumbs. When he looked up, Ms. McGonagall had finished speaking.

“If you have no further questions, I will take my leave. May I call on Sunday, for your decision, and a possible shopping trip? Diagon Alley is difficult to reach if one is not a wizard.”  
  
There was the wave of a wand, and the goat was an armchair once more.

 

After Ms. McGonagall left, Harry waited a moment, and moved to follow her, but she was already gone. He traversed most of Little Whinging, but he never saw her.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is there anything anyone would like to see?


	3. Three Types of Invisibility (no cloak required)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is angsty and excited. Petunia lets slip a decades-old secret, harry directly quotes an achingly lonely Tom Riddle, and Dudley just wants to go to magic school.

Sunday came, and went.

Harry stood slightly to the side as a professor from a magic school told Dudley he was special—again, and again, and again. If Petunia had looked his way, she might have recognized the aching desperation in his face, but nobody looked at Harry, not most days, and especially not today. Harry leaned back against the wall, and wondered if being this invisible was magic too.

He almost—almost—screamed _look at me!_ Almost caught the professor’s arm and told her _I can talk to snakes—does that make me special too?_ He didn’t, though. _The letter system does not lie_ , the woman had said, and there was a lifetime of _don’t ask questions_  ringing in his ears. Squaring his shoulders, he listened to Mrs. McGonagall, even if it wasn’t meant for him. There was magic in the world—the impossible was possible for some people. Not for Harry, but, well, most things weren’t.  Dudley always got everything Harry really wanted, and quite a few things he didn’t know to wish for besides. This was one of those things, but this time, Harry got the explanations. He got—there was magic in the world, and it existed and he knew it did and there was magic in the world and that had to be enough. Just being near it would have to be enough.

 

The family left him with Mrs. Figg during the shopping trip.

 

Mrs. Figg watched McGonagall walk away with a badly hidden second glance, and felt quietly furious. The boy was a squib, but he was a child of their world, regardless. He deserved to know the world he came from, even if it didn’t want him. There was value in him, even magicless. She spun, to find her books on potions and herbology, to tell him he had a place in this too—and stopped. Harry’s eyes were too bright and his shoulders too stiff, but he was stroking Mr. Tibbles softly, looking at the blank telly like it was a lifeline. She sighed, and gave him yet another afternoon without magic.

Maybe it was better this way.

 

————

 

September first dawned as dull and misty as any day in Surrey, the weather unaffected by the excitement of two eleven year old boys.

As the kitchen filled slowly with soft white light, Harry crept from his cupboard, already dressed in his uniform. He had a bright red backpack slung over one shoulder, only mildly worn, and two brand new notebooks tucked carefully within it.

It was the matter of moments to snag a piece of bread and slip out the door. It was only two kilometers to Stonewall, so he would be early, but it was better than waiting at Privet drive, and besides, this was his first ever time at a school without Dudley. He was going to do it right.

 

Dudley Dursley was awake before his cousin, but he didn’t hear him slip away. He was too busy being nervous.  
Would they like him? Piers was a real mate, but he didn’t remember making friends with Piers, and he didn’t—Dudley was large and slow and powerful, here, but he couldn’t get any of the hexes he tried on Harry to work and some part of him was horrified at doing such odd things—Dudley took a breath. He heard Petunia in the kitchen. Mummy said he was special, and so had Professor McGonagall, and dad too. It would be enough. It had to be.

 

———

 

The Dursley family drove to King’s Cross Station together. When they reached the point between platform nine and ten, Dudley turned to his parent’s, wide eyed.

“There’s no platform!”

“Oh Diddy...” his mother gave a strained smile. “It’s a magic platform.”

She whirled on her heel, looking tense. Then, with a quick glance at the surrounding station, she walked briskly toward the column between platforms nine and ten, and melted into the brick.

Vernon and Dudley exchanged a look.

“I suppose we’d best get on with it, then.”

Two stressful trips later found a heaving Vernon and Dudley heaving triumphantly next to Dudley’s pile of luggage. Petunia glanced around.

“Hasn’t changed much,” she said, sniffing. 

Dudley Dursley looked at the platform, agreeing that it was timeless, but also quite sure that was not what his mother meant.

He stared at her for explanation, and she sighed, looking older than she had since the letter. “You know I had a sister.”

Dudley nodded. That was why Harry lived with them.

“Li—she was one of...” Petunia ran a hand through her hair, fingers catching almost immediately on a pin. She touched Dudley’s shoulder. “She had magic. I’ve been here before.”

“She did? What was—“ her name? —she like? Dudley had too many questions to choose from, so he didn’t ask any, just gave a quiet “oh.”

Up ahead, the train made a loud honking noise, like from an old fashioned film. Dudley gave the secret platform a slow glance, then looked to his parents. “Should I board, then?”

“Not yet.” Vernon tugged him roughly into a hug, eyes over-bright. Beside him, Petunia looked quietly triumphant and fiercely proud. She didn’t call him Diddykins, but she smiled and joined the hug. They all pulled away, as one.

“Okay, now. Go learn magic.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all Real Life has taken priority over writing so do expect semi infrequent updates!


	4. Friendship

Beyond the secret platform, in the muggle world, Harry was practicing. 

 

He hadn’t spoken to anyone all day, except for a quiet “present” when the teachers took roll. He was too embarrassed by his elephant-skin trousers and mussed, too large shirt, especially when he saw his classmates looking neat and clean and—something. Like people cared about them. But this was Harry’s first ever time at a school the Dursley’s had nothing to do with—Petunia hadn’t even gone to the parents’ club at the start of classes—and it would be stupid to let the them ruin something when they weren’t even there.

 

So, practice. Harry just knew—he just knew, if he said all the right things he’d make a friend. And he just knew that a friend would be almost the best thing in the world.

 

_Hi my name is Harry, and my cousin is magic—no—Hi my name is Harry and I live with my aunt and uncle and cousin and they hat—Hi my name is Harry and I’m good at gardening—Hi my name is Harry and I’ve never left Surrey—Hi my name is Harry and I’m invisi—Hi my name is Harry and I like math and books and hiding—Hi my name is Harry and I live in a cu—and I can cook and clean and—_

 

“Hi,” came a voice from behind him.

Harry spun about. The voice belonged to a girl with a bright smile and skin a shade darker than his own. 

“My name is Ellie and I like science and pink and cars. I’m eleven. Do you want to be friends?”

 

Harry stared, but it didn’t seem to be a joke, and Dudley wasn’t here anyways. His lips stretched into a shy smile. 

“I’m Harry, and I’m eleven too. And I’d like that.”

 

————

 

On the Hogwarts Express,  Neville Longbottom tripped over the hem of his brand new robes, upturning his brand new toad’s terrarium. He righted it before picking himself up, but it was too late. Trevor had made his escape. 

 

 

 Hermione Granger was sitting with a group of girls her age for the first time in years.  When Neville’s heartbroken wails washed over them, she remembered being lonely and bullied and smart, smart, smart, and she almost exchanged a smirk with the other, equally lonely girls. But then she remembered again being lonely and bullied and smart, smart, smart, and instead she left the compartment to find him and help.   


On the other side of the train, Ron Weasley ducked out from Percy’s protective gaze, and down the hallway. He wandered past several full compartments, and into the first he found that wasn’t. It felt important.

 

“Hi,” he said. “I’m Ron. Do you mind if I sit here? Everywhere else is f—“

 

Ron stopped when he realized the compartment was empty. He didn’t know why he expected anything else.

 

———

 

The third person Dudley Dursley met upon boarding the Hogwarts Express was the blood purist Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy, confident in Greg and Vince’s ability to protect him, called Dudley’s family worthless. Dudley jumped him, punching and kicking and biting until Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle shook off their shock and yanked him off.

 

 Malfoy spent the ride in the prefect’s compartment, getting patched up by Percy Weasley. 

 

Dudley spent it with the trolley witch, who shared three free pumpkin pasties with him and wouldn’t tell him her name. She did tell him about her nephew Gerard, though, who worked on developing bombs for the government, which Dudley thought was very cool. 

 

 

When they got off the train, each of them was one almost-friend richer, except Ron Weasley, who felt like he lost something, even though that didn’t make any sense.

 

 

————

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this took two centuries and is two sentences long but it exists! The new thing is writing and posting from my phone and using external validation (you all) as motivators. Thank you for reading!  
> Also I can’t format text from the phone bc scrolling goes wonky when things get highlighted (idk) so please imagine thoughts are italicized


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